Belonging

Long time no see! Not here, anyway!

I started my new job. It's been 3-1/2 weeks! I love it. Oh, how I love it. Last summer, when I got to do for a week what I am now doing all the time, my husband told me it was the happiest he had seen me in a long time. I think part of that may have been the result of coming out of probably the most difficult 7 years of our lives. But I think part of it was also the work.

I am so very thankful for this opportunity. Who gets their dream job at 53? Not many people. May I never stop being thankful for this gift.

I have been thinking about why I enjoy it so much. A big part of it is the work itself. I am a writer, and I somehow got a full-time writing job. Wow. Not only do I get to write and edit, but I get to do so in the service of my church. I can't imagine much better.

But I think there is something else at play. I have realized, finally in my fifties, that I have a very strong need to belong. I think it may come in part out of a lifetime of not really feeling like I belong. In a blended family, I grew up as "half" sibling to 10 others. My father had 4 children; my mom had 6; they had me. In a family with two "sides," it is hard to know exactly where you fit.

When I was in junior high, we moved. I was bullied and ostracized in my new school. That experience exacerbated my shyness/introversion to the point that I worried way too much in high school about being liked and fitting in. I had friends, but I think I could have had more if I had just relaxed and enjoyed people more.

As the wife of a church worker, I have found it difficult to know where I fit in at church. As nice as people are, when you're on staff, there's a bit of a wall, a feeling that you need to be on guard. It's just the way it is. So you turn to the staff for friendship. When that doesn't pan out as you hope, it can be discouraging.

Some years ago I found a group that I thought were my "tribe": confessional Lutheran homeschooling moms like myself. And in truth, they are my tribe more than about anyone else I've ever known. Which is why they became so important to me, resulting in my not handling it well a few years ago when I suddenly didn't feel like I fit there either.

Back to the job. To be surrounded by not just a few but an entire department full of people that seem to care about so many of the same things I care about has been a joy. To spend my days working with those people on shared goals, and to see those goals come to fruition, is indescribable. I know many people never get to experience that sort of reward in their work. I am still pinching myself that I am getting to do so.

I'm sure there are going to be stressors, disagreements and problems along the way. When those things come, I need to not let them make me feel like I don't belong. And if I do end up feeling that way, I need to remember that it's probably due more to something inside me than anything else. Most of all, I need to remember that in the eyes of my Savior, I do belong, and that's really all that matters.

(Sorry for the "me me me" post. This is for my friends who might be interested in how things are going. They're going great!)

Mother's Day

Yesterday I changed my profile pic on Facebook to this one.

Since then, I keep looking at it, amazed that there was a time my mom and I were the same height. By the time she died, her osteoporosis was so progressed that she was hardly over five feet tall. Aging is brutal and death is terrible. Time does such cruel things to the body. I'm not talking about the cosmetic stuff--the wrinkles and gray hair and such. I'm talking about disintegrating bones, organs that don't work right anymore, teeth that can't chew, failing senses, a slowing brain, and weakening muscles. As those things wreak their havoc on the body, it can be easy for others to start seeing the person differently--to think that the 85-year-old is someone different from the 45-year-old or 15-year-old. But on the inside, nothing has really changed. That soul, that precious child of God, created by Him and loved by Him, is the same as it has always been. It still gets sad and lonely and afraid. It still wants its mommy. It still needs to feel that it is loved and accepted. It still needs a Savior.

This is Babsy. She is one of Jesus' little lambs, loved by Him fully and unconditionally. She's not sad, lonely or afraid anymore.

April 20

Three years ago on April 20 a bad thing happened. The last two years I was painfully aware of the approach of the date on the calendar. Yesterday I didn't even think about it until about halfway through the day. I write this today to encourage you, if you have recently had an April 20 in your life, to take heart. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but there will come a time when that date on the calendar won't be completely overshadowed by what happened in the past. I'm not saying you will forget. Your April 20 may be a hundred times worse than mine, and the last thing I want to do is make light of anyone's pain. It may be that you haven't had just one April 20 but a series of them in quick succession, and you are wondering when they're going to stop. In that case, I pray God's care and protection of you. I also pray that in time your April 20s, however many of them there are, hurt less and the day comes that you wake up to discover that April 20 came and went and you didn't even realize it because you were too busy enjoying a life that is better than you ever imagined it could be. Until then, be ye glad and trust in the One who took the worst day in history and turned it into the best day there ever was.

Little Pitchers

You try to protect them. You think you have done so. And then you discover that no matter how hard you try, you can't completely shield them from the difficult truths of life.

A few days ago my 10-year-old and I watched an episode of Spongebob Squarepants. In it, Spongebob gets fired from his job at the Krusty Krab because his boss, Mr. Krabs, is trying to cut costs. Spongebob is fired rather than his coworker Squidward because Squidward has seniority. The rest of the episode depicts Spongebob trying various other restaurant jobs (with such success that the other owners end up fighting over and kidnapping him from one another) but ultimately getting hired back at the Krusty Krab because his presence there is so missed.

Some hours after we had watched this episode, Evan asked me, "Mom, what is seniority?" I told him, and after a pause he asked, "Does Dad have seniority?"

There was a world of meaning in that sentence. After my husband was let go from his job a few years ago, we tried our best to shield Evan from the specifics of the situation. It wasn't just a matter of his dad getting fired; it was a matter of it being done by people Evan knew and trusted. We didn't want him to be hurt by that knowledge so were careful not to speak of it around him and to explain the changes in his life in the vaguest terms possible. But ultimately, kids know when something isn't right. They know when their parents are sad. They know when their family is struggling.

I couldn't bear to tell him that no, actually, right now Dad doesn't have seniority. He's only been in his current position, and we have only been in our current church, for a year. So I fumbled for an answer, doing my best to reassure him that things are good here and that his Dad is not in any danger of getting fired the way Spongebob was. But on the other hand I can't really know that for sure, can I? We can't ever be sure what tomorrow will bring. As I write this I think it would have been better for me to tell him the truth: that even though his dad doesn't have seniority in the world, in the person and work of Jesus he has all the seniority he needs, because Jesus invites him (as He invites all of us) to sit at the head of the table, partaking of the finest food and drink even though we have not earned nor deserved it. In Jesus we need not worry about finding our place in the world, because that place has already been determined and set for us, and it is one from which there is no threat of demotion.

Job security? No, Evan, we don't really have that. Not any more than the next guy. But what we do have is the certainty of an eternal place in the Lord's kingdom, a place He created for us two thousand years ago on the cross and one from which He promises we will never be dismissed.

Bible Class Today

Today in Bible class we studied Luke 19:28-40, Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Pastor pointed out how this point in Jesus' earthly life is in a literary sense like the turning point in a story where suddenly everything pivots and the final chapter of the narrative starts to play out. Jesus, of course, knew what was to come and in his humanity certainly felt all the overwhelming emotions one might expect. One of the men in the class asked if, since Jesus also knew the ultimate outcome (his resurrection from the dead and redemption of all creation), that knowledge might have made it easier for him to face the events of the week. Pastor responded by pointing out that we as God's people have that same knowledge. We know how the story ends, yet we still struggle every day with the crosses we are called to bear. Knowing the outcome, such that we can keep our eyes firmly fixed upon it, strengthens us in our resolve and in our faith. But it doesn't make the pain and sadness of the present any less real.

"I'm Nobody! Who Are You?" (Updated)

This week my husband and I were blessed to attend the 19th Annual Concordia Catechetical Academy Symposium in Sussex, Wisconsin. One of the presenters, Pastor Rolf Preus, spoke about "Knowing Who Jesus Is By What Jesus Does." Here is the third paragraph of that paper (we were provided with a print version):

"We cannot confess the two natures of Christ without confessing Christ as our Redeemer from sin. We cannot talk about who Jesus is without talking about what Jesus does. We cannot consider the person of Christ in isolation from his work."

The inability to separate Christ's words from His actions was a recurring theme of the conference. I had the thought while listening to all of this that it gets at the heart of why vocation is so important. Human beings are inextricably tied to what they do. It is from what we do that we take our identity. 

So when a relationship is broken, one feels not only the loss of that person on an external level but on an internal one as well. "I was a __________ (friend, spouse) and now I'm not; what, then, am I?"

Or when a dear one dies, that loss, too, is more than just the absence of that beloved person, but a new hole within oneself. "I was a __________ (daughter, son, mother, father, sibling) and now I'm not, at least not to the person who is gone; what, then, am I?"

Or when a job is lost, it is not just the worry about making ends meet that can keep one up at night, but the questioning of who one is. "I was a __________ (teacher, pastor, cantor, accountant, secretary) and now I'm not; what then, am I?"

The list could go on. When the loss is not due to death or a broken relationship or the ending of employment but is instead merely the passing from one phase of life to another (as with a breadwinner retiring or a homeschool mom's last child leaving home or going to school) there will still be significant need for adjustment because when the thing we have done for so long comes to an end we are going to some extent feel and grieve that loss.

I realize I am not observing anything new or profound here. But considering all of this in light of Pastor Preus's paper has driven the point home for me in a brand new way. We are what we do. What we do is at the core of who we are. So when what we do changes, we may find ourselves wondering, "Who in the world am I?"

Thanks be to God that even when a Christian can't answer that question in terms of his temporal life he can still answer it in terms of his eternal one: "I may not know what I am doing today, and I may not know what I am going to do tomorrow, but I know who I am. I am a child of God. Jesus has called me, and no matter what I do, I am HIS!" 

A God of Life

I'm turning my Facebook status this morning into a blog post.

Last night Evan, my 7-year-old, asked me one of those questions that makes ME feel like a 7-year-old: "Why didn't God kill the snake before it could tempt Adam & Eve?"

I fumbled around a bit with this and that, telling Evan that in His death on the cross Jesus did conquer the devil, but finally summarized with the standard "There are things we don't fully understand now that we will understand some day when we get to heaven."

This morning I shared Evan's question with my husband, who responded: "Well, God doesn't kill US before WE can sin, does He? The devil kills his enemies; the Lord kills Himself to save His enemies, reconciling the world to Himself."

See why I love this man?

Take Up Your Cross

"And he said to all, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself? For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words, of him will the Son of Man be ashamed when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.'" - Luke 9:23-26

Christians love to make their salvation about themselves: their decision to pursue it, their choice to accept it, their works to earn it. Thus when we hear this well known passage our gut reaction is to think of the taking up of one's cross as something we do to earn God's approval--to prove ourselves to Him. We look at the ways we suffer in our everyday lives and congratulate ourselves for persevering in the face of that suffering: "See, Jesus? See? I'm suffering but I'm not giving up. I'm following you. I'm remaining faithful. Aren't you proud of me?" We are perhaps tempted to buy into the Roman Catholic view of our suffering as something we can "offer up" to Jesus, adding our suffering to His so as to help Him in his redemptive work.

Here's what Father Luther has to say about that:

"Illness, poverty, pain, and the like must not be called a cross; they are not worthy of that name. . . . This is finding the cross: to know your own self, or to know the cross. Where do you find that? In your heart. Unless you find it there the finding of it outwardly is of no avail. 'Whosoever willeth to come to me, let him take up his cross and follow me.' You must come to the point when you say, 'My Lord and my God, would that I were worthy of it.' You must be as joyful about it as were the dear saints." (Martin Luther, Day by Day We Magnify Thee, Sermons from 1527)

So much for smugly patting ourselves on the back for enduring all that this world throws at us. None of that can even qualify as a cross. "This is finding the cross: to know your own self . . . ." In other words, finding the cross is looking within and seeing the sin that is responsible for our Saviour's taking up His cross and then being brought to repentance and wanting nothing more than to follow that Saviour in the way of the cross because that is where hope, forgiveness, and new life are to be found.

Jesus doesn't ask us to take up our crosses so that we can help Him. He asks us to do it so that He can help us.

Christmas in August

Hey, you. Yeah, you with the computer and to-do list a mile long. Stop what you're doing and listen to this. It's a video of the attendees at this weekend's Doxology retreat in Schuyler, Nebraska, singing Lutheran Service Book 384, "Of the Father's Love Begotten." Yes, I know. It's a Christmas hymn, and here we are with almost a month left of summer. But the message of this hymn--one of my all-time favorites--knows no season. So give yourself a 4-minute breather and hear of the love of the Father for you, His precious child. (By the way, that's my hubby singing the first stanza and providing piano accompaniment throughout. Notice what happens in the piano on the final, doxological stanza. It's as if the piano breaks out into its own, spontaneous song, leaving the singers to carry the melody on their own. I think they do a pretty good job of it, don't you?)

Life Under the Cross

One of the things I love most about the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, in which I was confirmed as a young married twenty-something in the late 1980's (having been Roman Catholic in my teenage years), is its perfect understanding of salvation and the individual's role in obtaining it. As human beings we naturally (and sinfully) desire ultimate power over our own lives and credit for our accomplishments. No wonder, then, that we struggle so with realizing that when it comes to justification--being made righteous in the sight of God--we have no role to play. Martin Luther described the human condition as that of a beggar standing before God. There is nothing we can do to remove the stain of sin, nothing we can offer to earn God's forgiveness. We are utterly dependent upon God's mercy, and because God is God and He demands perfection, our only hope is to plant ourselves firmly behind the cross of Christ, trusting the Father's promise to impute the righteousness of the Son to those who live under that cross. As the pastor who confirmed me described it, God looks at the sinner through the lens of the cross and, seeing only the perfection of Jesus, likewise pronouces the sinner to be "poi-fect."

To realize that there is nothing I can do to gain salvation--indeed, nothing I need to do, since Jesus has done it for me--brings a feeling of peace, rest and freedom that goes beyond human words because it is not of this world. And yet, the sinful nature still fights against it, wanting to reclaim that power and control. I am the master of my destiny, after all. Aren't I? Aren't I helping just a little by what a good person I'm being and how hard I'm working? "No," says the Father, smiling gently. "No. You are a poor, miserable sinner. But you are my child whom I love, so much that I sent my own dear Son to live the perfect life you couldn't and to pay for the sins you couldn't pay for. Rest in His triumph over sin, death, and the grave. It is finished. There's nothing more to be done!"

Oh. Yeah. I forgot for a moment there. And on it goes--the daily forgetting and reminding that is the essence of the life of a Christian.

I think it may be that constant need of the sinner to be reminded of his sinful condition that leads to something I sometimes encounter among my Lutheran friends.* Because they so deeply understand their sinful state and love the theology of the cross, I think there is sometimes a tendency to put their sins on display in a way that is not necessarily helpful to either themselves or those with whom they come into contact. And because it is so easy to fall into the "try to be good so God will love me" trap, they overcompensate by trumpeting as loudly as possible what wretches they are, turning their shortcomings, weaknesses, and sinful nature into almost a point of pride or badge of honor: "Look at me! Look at what a messed up, sinful excuse for a human being I am! Can you believe it? I'm even more screwed up than you!"

And indeed, they are wretches. We all are, and again, one of the things I love most about Lutheran theology is how effectively that message is communicated. But I think there's a balance to be had. There's a difference between quietly hanging our heads in shame as we acknowledge our sins and perhaps even share them in hopes of pointing another towards Christ, and standing before the world, playing a game of sinner's one-ups-man-ship as we tick off our transgressions with Technicolor detail and provide the equivalent of a Powerpoint presentation on our messed up selves.

I sometimes even see what strikes me as intentionally edgy behavior that has as its goal the avoidance of the dreaded "pietist" label: "See? I appreciate wordly music and pleasures. I can swear and drink and party and tell dirty jokes with the best of them. I'm no goody-two-shoes holier-than-thou Pollyanna. I'm a sinner!" The mind reels with the possibilities. "See Dick sin. Sin, Dick, sin!"

I think that sometimes our sins, like our prayers, might be best kept between us and God: “And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." (Matthew 6: 5-6)

And you know, there's nothing wrong with trying to be good as long as we realize that, while it will certainly make our earthly life and that of those around us better, it's not going to get us any closer to heaven.

*I do it, too.

One Little Word

We sang one of my favorite hymns in church yesterday: "How Firm a Foundation" (Lutheran Service Book #728). Here's the first stanza:

"How firm a foundation, O saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word
What more can He say than to you He has said
Who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?"

The image of God speaking reminds me of the third stanza of "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" (LSB 656):

"Though devils all the world should fill,
All eager to devour us,
We tremble not, we fear no ill,
They shall not overpower us.
This world's prince may still
Scowl fierce as he will.
He can harm us none.
He's judged, the deed is done.
One little word can fell him."

That "one little word" should really be written as "One Little Word." Because the One Little Word that sends the Devil packing is the same One Little Word that is the cornerstone of the faith. It is the Word that was with God in the beginning, the Word that became flesh only to be nailed to a cross for the sin of all mankind. What more, indeed, can God say? In the name Jesus He has said it all, to all, for all time. The "excellent Word" to which the hymnist refers is in fact the One who is the "most excellent of men," whose "lips have been anointed with grace" (Psalm 45:2). As the Creator spoke his creation into being, the Son speaks salvation to the fallen. And His redeemed in turn speak the One Little Word of His name back to Him, confessing that saving faith before all the world so that others may hear it and likewise be saved.

I am a word person. I love to read and write, to play with words and to study them. Every sentence is a sort of puzzle for me, and I greatly enjoy the process of fitting all the pieces of the puzzle together in just the right way. It can be a challenge to achieve the desired rhythm and cadence, to make the words flow together so that they not only communicates clearly but are pleasing to the ear. I think I have a knack for it, but at the same time, I have to work at it. It doesn't just happen.

In contrast to my many and labored human words, words which rattle on too long, try too hard, and are prone to being misunderstood, there stands the One Little Word of Jesus, indivisible and all-encompassing in its simplicity. I speak, and it is all resounding gongs and clanging cymbals (1 Cor. 13); He speaks, and His Word is love. How glad I am that the One Little Word my God chose to speak was to name His Son, Jesus, rather than to name me, for all time, Sinner! Little it may seem, yet it is big enough to chase away my sin and that of all the world. Thanks be to God for His One Little Word!

Death and Life

My five-year-old (that angel face in the previous post) has been thinking about death a lot lately, probably due in large part to losing his granddad last month. He has expressed the wish that he could go to heaven without having to die (we have told him that if Jesus comes back in his lifetime he might just get to). He has reacted to people or situations that make him angry or upset by saying, "I want to die!" or "You want me to die!" He has been asking a lot of questions about other people he loves, wondering particularly how his grandmas are doing and if they're getting better. I think he fears losing someone else.

Last night he was feeling lonely and having trouble sleeping, so I lay down with him in his bed for a while. We chatted about everyday things and finally he was quiet. Then out of nowhere he asked,

"Jesus came to earth so that He could DIE?"

Isn't it amazing how children can sometimes just get at the essence of a thing? I replied,

"Yes, honey, He did. He came to die for us, to pay the punishment for our sins."

A moment of silence, and then,

"That's sad."

I agreed that it was very sad. But thanks be to God I was able to immediately follow that sadness up with joy, pointing Evan to the happiest day, the Feast of the Resurrection this Sunday, when we go to the tomb and find that it is empty!

But first we must walk with our Lord the Way of the Cross, watching as He prays in the garden and is handed over to suffer and die for sinners such as we. As we walk that lonely road this week, again coming face to face with the horror of our sin, may we keep our eyes fixed on the Christ, remembering that yes, He came to earth to die, but that the story doesn't end there. I'm going to stick around for the final chapter, and I pray you do, too.

This is sad.

The latest issue of World magazine features an interview with Bill Moyers, former White House press secretary to LBJ and host of several PBS news programs and series. Moyers talks about his degree in Divinity from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and his original intention to became a preacher, which eventually gave way to a career in politics and journalism.

Towards the end of the article, the interviewer asks Moyers if he believes Christ was truly crucified and raised from the dead. Moyers in effect says it doesn't matter--he says he has a "strong suspicion" Jesus was crucified but "there's no empirical evidence about it" and goes on to state: "You can't take the resurrection by fact--you have to take it on faith. You appropriate the story for what it means to you and what it says to you . . . If it means something to you, that's very important."

The article ends with this quote: "Someone recently asked me what the moment was when I became a Christian. And I told them, I never did become a Christian. I can't turn the other cheek. I can't sell all my possessions and give them away. I can't love my enemy. I am not a Christian because I can't do what Jesus asks. But, I care deeply about that figure. He has instructed my faith; He looms large in my life. But I can't do what He asks me to do, so I can't legitimately claim to be a Christian."

I could say all those same things about the things Jesus wants me to do that I can't. And yet for me, that is the very reason I AM a Christian.

We Shall Overcome?

Yesterday while driving through Chicagoland my children and I passed by this church:

World Overcomers Church: Where Dreams Come True (Since the second part of the name is a permanent element on both the church's building and its sign, it seems to be an actual part of the name, not just a descriptive phrase.)

When I pointed the building out to my daughter, she expressed surprise, asking, "That's a church?" Indeed, there was nothing I could see on the building's exterior (beyond the sign itself) that would identify it as a church.

I honestly don't understand what draws people to a place like this. I am a poor, miserable sinner who can hardly manage the details of my own daily life and now you want me to be a "world overcomer"? The thought makes me tired. Thanks be to God that I belong to a church that preaches Christ crucified. Because He has already done it all, conquering sin, death and the grave, there is nothing more that needs overcoming.

Ascension Day

Thursday was the Feast of the Ascension, the day on which liturgical Christian churches traditionally celebrate the bodily Ascension of Jesus into heaven. (Some churches shift their observance to Sunday, but since the Ascension occurred 40 days after Jesus' Resurrection, Ascension Day falls each year on a Thursday and is most properly celebrated on that day.)

For my congregation Ascension Day has particular significance due to the fact that we take our name (Bethany) from the village near which Jesus ascended:

"Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands he blessed them. While he blessed them, he parted from them and was carried up into heaven."--Luke 24:50-51

It is perhaps for this reason that we are motivated to make our Ascension observance extra festive, but considering the significance of this event for the Christian Church it is disappointing that more Christian congregations don't give the day special attention. Many let it pass with only glancing recognition, while others don't consider it at all. Even my local Roman Catholic diocese transfers the celebration to Sunday. But I really like what we do at our congregation, turning Ascension Day into a grand festival with particular attention paid to helping the children of our parish grasp the overflowing joy and awe rightly felt by Christians on this day. Following is a brief description of our tradition:

The celebration began right after school with activities for the children. They decorated an Ascension Day banner, created handmade instruments, and learned some Ascension music to sing for the service later in the evening. There was also some outside play time (luckily the weather cooperated). While the children were occupied, parents enjoyed appetizers and conversation in the gym. At 5:15 everyone lined up for a parade around the church grounds. Leading the way was our processional cross, followed by the pastors carrying the Ascension banner. As they marched, the children rattled their noisemakers and blew on their horns. Periodically the parade halted as Pastor proclaimed "We see Him now ascending" to which all responded "Alleluia!" After circling the grounds, everyone gathered in the sanctuary for Divine Service. The celebration wrapped up with a congregational dinner. Here are a few photos of the parade:

The procession begins.


Our adult choir.

Cantor with the children's choir:

Parents & others welcome the marchers as they wind up the parade.

There is a bittersweetness to this day that for me was most pronounced as I watched the extinguishing of the Paschal candle at the conclusion of the Gospel reading (signifying Jesus' bodily departure from this world). I think of the followers of Jesus and try to imagine the indescribable combination of sadness and joy they must have felt as they watched Him disappear into the Heavens. Yet I like them take comfort in the Saviour's words as He leaves us with His Holy Spirit and the promise of His presence in Word and Sacrament:

"Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age."--Matthew 28:20

St. Matthew Passion

Yesterday the Church celebrated Palm Sunday, the occasion of Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem, riding upon a donkey amidst people shouting "hosanna" and waving palm branches. Within days those very same people would nail him to a cross.

Among liturgical churches, Palm Sunday is often also known as Passion Sunday because it begins the week of observances recounting the trial, suffering, crucifixion and death of Jesus. This year for Passion Sunday, following many weeks of rehearsal dating back to last fall, the adult choir at my LCMS congregation presented Henrich Schutz's St. Matthew Passion in its entirety.

One of our choir members, who is an alto extraordinaire and unpaid choir librarian and organizer (as well as mom to this cool chick), wrote some excellent program notes to enhance the congregation's appreciation of this musical event. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I will simply reproduce some of her enlightening observations below (hope you don't mind, Mrs. G.).

"Heinrich Schutz (1585-1672) is generally regarded as the most important German composer before J. S. Bach and is considered to be one of the most notable of the 17th century. He brought new musical ideas to Germany from Italy, exerting a large influence on the German music which was to follow. These musical ideas brought new depth to the liturgical practice of 'text painting,' and listeners today still delight in how effectively Schutz brings words alive through the art of music. His expressive and lyric style extended into his organ music, making him one of the most influential composers of the famed north German organ school--a genre that was to culminate 100 years later in the work of another Lutheran cantor, J.S. Bach.

"The time in which Schutz lived was marked politically by the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648). In the context of Lutheranism, the 17th century is known as the Orthodox Period of Lutheran Scholasticism. In this period, congregations maintained the fullness of historic Christian rituals in their normal worship, especially in the cities and universities. Holy Communion was celebrated on each Sunday and the traditional parts of the service were retained. Church music flourished, and this era is considered as a 'golden age' of Lutheran music and hymnody. Besides Schutz, prominent church musicians and composers of the era included Michael Praetorius, Johann Cruger, and Dietrich Buxtehude.

"Schutz's best known works are sacred pieces, including his three books of Symphoniae sacrae, the Psalms of David, and his three Passion settings--St. Luke (1664), St. John (1665), and St. Matthew (1666). Schutz's early music demonstrated the most progressive styles, but grew eventually into a simple and almost austere style, culminating with his Passion settings, written when he was an elderly man. Responsibility for this return to austerity can be partially laid to the aftermath of the Thirty Years' War: the music infrastructure was devastated, making it difficult, if not impossible, to put on the gigantic, Venetian style works of his earlier period. Additionally, Schutz may have been maintaining the tradition of no instrumental activity in Holy Week.

"The Passion is the theological term for the suffering of Jesus in the hours prior to and including His trial and crucifixion. Musically, the Passion is the setting of the Crucifixion story as recorded in the Gospels. The reading of the Passion during Holy Week dates back to the fourth century. It began to be chanted or sung by the eighth century. By the 1200's different singers were used for different characters in the narrative, and by the fifteenth century, polyphonic settings of the turba passages (crowd parts) began to appear.

"The three Passions of Schutz look back to the much earlier tradition of the dramatic Passion in which three singers and choir presented the Gospel narrative during the solemn ceremonies of Holy Week. In that tradition, the Evangelist (middle voice range), Christus (low voice range), and the Synogoga (Peter, Pilate, Caiphas, et. al.) together with the Turba recounted the story of the suffering and death of Christ. Schutz's Passions are 'oratorio passions,' having the entire text sung, with no additional arias.

"We are singing the English edition of Schutz's St. Matthew Passion by Stephen Rosolack. It is interesting to note that, except for the opening and closing choruses, the choir generally does not portray very likable people. Most choruses express anger, impatience and fear. Directions to the choir include words like 'arrogantly,' 'pompously,' 'derisively,' and 'mockingly.' Noteworthy as well is the concluding chorus. It begins majestically then takes on the regal nature of a fanfare. The chorus concludes prayerfully with the Kyrie Eleison: Lord, have mercy."

The text of the Passion, which was printed in the program for listeners to follow, can be found here. (Thank you, Hannah!) Because of the length of the Passion, the usual order of service was somewhat abbreviated and consisted of the following:

Prelude: "Herzlich tut mich verlangen" (Anton Wilhelm Leupold)

Venite and Gloria Patri

Office Hymn: "Sing, My Tongue, the Glorious Battle"

The Passion

Offering and Voluntary

Offertory: "On My Heart Imprint Your Image"

Prayers

Benedicamus and Benediction

Recessional: "A Lamb Goes Uncomplaining Forth"

Dismissal

Postlude: "O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig" (J.S. Bach)

As mentioned, our choir (named Proclaim) began its preparations for this undertaking last fall. As we were laying the foundation for this piece throughout the year, there was still much other music to be learned (including a Bach cantata during Advent!). But due to a phenomenal cantor/choir director (truly, in my biased opinion, the best in our synod) and the committed, hard work of a dedicated choir, it all came together. The day before the performance, we gathered for a final Saturday-morning run-through. Here are a few photos (you may recognize that handsome choir director, who also sang the part of the narrator, from my previous post):


(Please note the three high school students in the front row of the above photo. They represent just a fraction of the youth that sing in our adult choir. Who says young people today don't appreciate good music?)

Here is a wide shot, providing a better view of our sanctuary and altar. Seated in the middle and dressed in white is our school band director, who portrayed and sang the part of Jesus.

Now, a few photos from warm-up on Sunday morning. Seated from left to right are "Judas," "Pontius Pilate," "Pilate's Wife," and "Peter." If I may say so, the young man who sang the part of Peter has a beautiful tenor voice and carried off his part with a conviction and passion quite noteworthy in one so young. (By the way, "Peter" lives in my house.)

There was minimal staging, but when a particular soloist's character became an element in the narrative, he or she stood up, as did the choir. In addition to the four pictured above, various choir members sang the parts of Caiaphas, the false witnesses, and the maids. For me one of the most riveting moments was Peter's denial of Jesus, when the two altos playing the parts of the maids stood up at their seats and pointed their fingers at Peter, identifying him as a follower of Jesus and meeting with his denunciation: "I do not know the man."

At the point of the story when Jesus is crucified, an acolyte bearing the processional cross came to stand behind Jesus at the center of the chancel; when Jesus died, the soloist portraying him departed the chancel.

One of the best things about this performance was I was actually able to enjoy it purely as a listener! (As choir accompanist I am usually playing along on the piano, but although I accompanied the many rehearsals of this work, the performance itself was a cappella--no instruments.) One of the disappointing aspects of the day was that my daughter, who loves Palm Sunday and who was very much looking forward to this service, ended up sick at home with strep throat. :-( Luckily, I videotaped the entire performance, so once she is feeling better she will get to see the whole thing on tape. In addition, an audio recording was made with the goal of eventually making it available for online listening. I will keep you posted!